Wherefore dost thou displease me, Sir?
Wherefore, above me, dost thou fancy her?
Wherefore in me does your interest wane
and sees it fit to set on the Lady Jane?
I care not for that Seymour wench,
and I'll have no more of that preposterous witch.
My Lord, I beseech you: acquit yourself of your quest,
for I know in my heart you know what is best.
Henry, my love, why shall I be killed?
Will you permit me to the swordsman, most skilled?
I weep for the love that has come to an end,
and in death remain your faithful servant, Anne Boleyn.